


Mirrors

by amscray_punk



Series: Four Sundays [4]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, idk there's dick touching and teasing too idk y'all, it's just smut, that is important to note, that's enough, whew tags are fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25641412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amscray_punk/pseuds/amscray_punk
Summary: Spot picks up Race from the dance studio and, there are mirrors.*It's smut. That's all. Nothing to see here.**Follow up for their text exchange at the end of chapter one of Delicate
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Four Sundays [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838668
Comments: 16
Kudos: 57





	Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hi. So, in Delicate, Race asks Spot to keep his scruffy look. At the end of the chapter, he texts him asking if he decided to shave and Spot tells him to wait and see. This is the seeing that follows the waiting.
> 
> Also, as I mentioned, it's just smut. I'm sorry, and I'm also not sorry. Pls enjoy

It was nearing ten by the time Spot reached the dance studio.

The studio technically closed at nine, but Race was staying late to get in some extra practice. Spot couldn’t stop the nervous flip of his stomach as he climbed the dark stairs of the building and slipped quietly through the door on the second floor, flipping the lock behind him. Just that morning, Racer had asked him not to shave; a simple request, and one that should have been an easy consideration. Instead, it had led him down a road of self-discovery as he realized not only did he _want_ to keep the scruff – for the first time in his life – but he wanted to do it because he loved that little shit. So of course, he had kept it. And, perhaps he’d spent a little more time getting his hair just right and, yeah, maybe he’d used his special occasion cologne but that was totally normal. Definitely.

The lobby was deserted, and it took Spot a moment to adjust to the darkness as he searched for signs of life. He looked left down the long hallway: nothing. He looked the other way and saw a sliver of light peeking out from one of the doors, and now that he’d noticed it, he could hear faint music, too. Focusing on keeping his tread light, he made his way down the hall, gripping the doorknob tightly so it made no noise when he turned it. He opened the door just a crack and peeked inside; his mouth went dry at the sight.

Racer was facing away from him, toward the row of floor-length mirrors, their smoothness interrupted only by the ballet barre bolted to the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed in intense concentration as he moved to the rolling music, oblivious to the intrusion. Spot nudged the door just a touch, leaning into the frame so he could watch. Race was wearing those black athletic pants he loved so much – the ones with the stripes – and nothing else as he leaped and spun. Spot wondered absently if his boyfriend even had any feeling on the bottoms of his feet anymore. As he watched, Race performed an extremely complicated combination of moves that included a series of graceful flips Spot had never seen before, and he marveled all over again at the incredible talent that was Racetrack Higgins.

Admittedly, Spot didn’t know much about dance. He felt like he had learned a staggering amount in the roughly four months they’d been dating, but he was consistently stunned whenever he got a chance to actually watch Race perform – even when he didn’t realize he had an audience. Spot allowed himself one more minute to ogle his boyfriend from the shadows; the defined muscles of his shoulders as he pushed himself off of the floor, the way his abdomen twisted in the air, his long legs spread in a midair split that seemed superhuman, toes always gorgeously pointed. Spot knew he would never tire of watching this, but the last thing he wanted was to startle Race into hurting himself. _That_ was something he could definitely do without. As the music started to fade, he pushed the door open the rest of the way, slowly, so that the movement caught Race’s eye in the mirror. Surprise made way for delight on his face as he recognized him, but something else took over his features the longer he looked at Spot. He hurried to grab his shirt from where it was draped over the barre, dabbing his face and torso with it as Spot made his way across the room.

“Look. At. You.” Race practically purred when Spot reached him, and he lifted a hand to brush his fingertips appreciatively along Spot’s jaw. His lip caught in his teeth as he did, and he moved closer to Spot almost reflexively. Spot felt his stomach flip again, although this one was more pleasant than the last. “My _goodness._ ”

“Pff,” Spot made an unimpressed sound, hooking a finger in the waistband of Race’s pants and pulling him even closer. “Look at me?” He murmured, making a show of raking his eyes over Race’s half-naked form. “Look at _you._ ”

Four months ago, Spot might’ve missed the faint color that touched Race’s cheekbones at his words. After all, he _had_ been dancing for God knows how long and his complexion was already flushed. But now, he considered himself an expert in Race’s body, particularly the reactions he had to the things Spot said or did. He knew that Race could almost never accept a compliment from anyone without blushing, at least a little. He knew that if he came up behind Race while he was preoccupied, he could make his heart pound simply by nosing up the side of his neck and pressing a kiss to that place behind his ear; knew he would be rewarded with a pleased gasp if he used his teeth a little. When Race’s eyes would begin to glaze over and he’d bite down on that bottom lip, Spot knew it was only a matter of time before clothes would be torn off. He knew Race _loved_ to be pressed into the wall, or any surface, really; could tell by the way he would inhale sharply and press back against him, his breathing shallow and quick. Spot loved to tease him into a panting, writhing mess, until he was nearly speechless with want; loved hearing _Sean_ fall from his lips when he begged to come.

It wasn’t just neck touches and slamming into walls that got Race hot; he _loved_ dirty talk of any kind. When Spot would take things slow, he’d start off undressing him, pressing maddeningly soft kisses to new areas of exposed skin. He’d murmur as he went about how beautiful he was – and he was – drinking in the quiet, breathy noises Race made. But as the pace would pick up, kisses turned to gentle bites, brushes of fingertips turned to bruising pressure and the talk changed, too. Race was always vocal during sex, and Spot’d lost track of how many times he’d had to clap a hand over Race’s mouth to avoid waking Jack in the next room. But Race even seemed to like that, because it always made his eyes roll back, a wanton moan vibrating through Spot’s palm. And if it turned Racer on, it usually did the trick for Spot too because then, he would keep his hand in place and growl into Race’s ear just _exactly_ what he was about to do to him.

Spot’s eyes finally settled on Racer’s face and he noticed his teeth grazing _that damn lip_ again and hell, there’s a fantasy he didn’t know he had until that very moment. He couldn’t believe he’d never considered it before; this wasn’t the first time he’d showed up after closing time. But although the idea of taking Racer to pieces in front of a wall of mirrors _seemed_ too good to be true, it wasn’t. The studio was closed. The doors were locked. No one would bother them, no one was going to tell him to stop.

“I mean it,” He said softly, sliding his hands down Race’s sides to grip his hips and turning him so that they were now facing the mirrors. He stepped behind him, brushing featherlight kisses up the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder. He heard Race’s sharp intake of breath as their eyes locked in the mirror. “Just look…” He breathed into his ear, not taking his eyes off his reflection as Race shivered, eyes fluttering just slightly. Spot brought his hands to the top of Race’s shoulders, trailing his fingertips down long arms as he spoke. “Your shoulders are beautiful, so strong,” He murmured, hands resting now on his hips. He brushed up Race’s abdomen and Race shuddered, a faint whimper escaping him as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Spot smirked; Race never could hold still. “And the face you make when I-” He pinched both nipples gently between two fingers, licking his lips as he watched Race gasp in the mirror.

“Shit, Spot,” Race hissed.

Spot huffed a small laugh against the side of his neck as he roamed lower, fanning his hands out to trace each crease of Race’s abs with his fingertips. “And don’t get me started on this stomach, I mean, _Jesus_ , Racer,”

“Fuck,” Race’s chest was heaving now and he grabbed Spot’s forearms for stability. Spot didn’t take his eyes off of the mirror as he pressed his lips to that sensitive spot behind Race’s ear. His skin was warm, a little salty but still so completely _Racer_ that Spot couldn’t hold back a soft moan. Race instinctively moved his hips back in search of friction, but Spot took a small step back, hands moving quickly to Race’s waist so he remained just out of reach. He was already pretty hard, but he didn’t want Racer to know that, not just yet.

“So impatient,” Spot shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. He held his hips, staying close enough that Race could feel his body heat but not so much that he could gain the upper hand. Picking up where he left off, he dragged his lips down the side of Race’s neck, the coarse stubble on sensitive skin drawing another breathless sound from Race and he fell forward, gripping the barre with both hands. “Let me see, where was I… oh,” Spot moved his hands down Race’s sides, running them over the silky material of his pants as he grasped his thighs. “These legs, Racer, these gorgeous dancer’s legs, so strong… I bet you could wrap ‘em around my waist and stay there all night, if ya tried.” He nipped at his earlobe and Race whined, looking away from the mirror for the first time as his head fell forward. Spot could feel the tension in the material of Racer’s pants and he brushed his hand across the front, biting back a sound of his own when he felt how rock hard Race was already. He noted Race’s surprised exhale with satisfaction and grabbed him deliberately through the fabric, grazing his teeth along his neck as he did. “Look at me.”

“Fuck, Spotty,” Race panted as he looked up, blue eyes flooded with desire as they found Spot’s in the mirror. “We’re gonna get caught-“

“Locked the door,” Spot brought his hand back up to Race’s abdomen, fingers ghosting along the waistband of his pants and making Race squirm. “Besides, I’m not gonna fuck you here, Racer, much as I’d like to,” He growled the words into his ear, smirking when Race let out a string of curses. “I just wanted you to see how hot you look when you’re this turned on.”

“I-I, can’t-“ Race cut off in a gasp as Spot slipped his hand down into his underwear and wrapped firmly around his cock, stroking slowly.

“Can’t what, baby?”

“Spot, _please_ ,” Race’s eyes rolled back as Spot flicked his wrist, picking up the pace. From his position behind Race, it was almost like jerking himself off, and the motion came naturally. He trailed the fingertips of his other hand up Race’s stomach, making sure to spend some time with those sinfully defined abs. Spot started kissing Race’s neck again, and he bit down at the precise moment that he pinched a nipple; Race moaned, hips bucking desperately into Spot’s hand. “God, I want-“

“Tell me,” Spot murmured, removing his other hand from Race’s stomach and instead bringing it behind him, threading his fingers into his hair and gripping tightly. Race gasped, mouthing _fuck_ as he tried to catch his breath. “Tell me what you want, Racer.”

But Race could only pant as he struggled to remain upright, the muscles in his arms and shoulders taut and shaking with the effort. He seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the image in the mirror and frankly, Spot couldn’t blame him. He found he was nearing the end of his own patience and he wondered absurdly if he should start carrying lube with him wherever he went. No, that was crazy, right?

“Way I see it, you got two choices,” Spot kept his grip in his hair tight, reveling in the way Race was hanging on his every word. Spot maintained that searing eye contact as he roughly tugged Race’s head back to breathe into his ear. “I can finish you off, right here, right now,” He paused, gritting his teeth; those desperate gasps were doing destructive things to his self-control. “And hope that there’s some Windex in that supply closet.” This time, when he paused, he took a step forward, pressing his own erection against Race’s ass, cursing the layers of cloth between them. Race’s mouth fell open and Spot was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing; his knuckles were white as he held onto the barre for dear life. “Or, you can come home with me and let me fuck you into my mattress.”

“Fuck,” Race groaned as he ground his hips backward. “You promise?” The sudden contact made Spot’s breath catch in his throat and his composure slipped. He groaned, deciding all at once that travel-sized lube wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

“I promise,” Spot growled into his ear, trying to focus on the image in the mirror, wanting to remember this. He loved seeing Race get to this point: breathless, needy, inhibitions gone as he desperately tried to keep up with the sensations. But a decision needed to be made, so Spot stilled his hand, keeping his fingers wrapped around the base as he nipped at Racer’s neck. “What’s it gonna be, gorgeous?”

“Fuck, Spotty, take me home,” The words came out in a rush and even though Spot knew what he’d meant, he couldn’t help the warm rush that spread through his chest at the word _home._ “Now, _please,_ ” Race choked out the last bit, his voice absolutely wrecked. _Perfect._ Spot pulled his hand from Racer’s pants, a bit reluctantly, and backed up, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. He watched Race intently as he picked up his shirt and slid it over his head, still shaking. Race turned so that his back was against the barre, and Spot couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward and kissed him hard, pressing him into the wood with enough force that he worried he might have bruised him. But Race didn’t seem to mind; he gasped against Spot’s lips and gripped onto the front of his jacket, his legs unsteady beneath him. Spot angled his hips up slightly and their resulting moans at the contact echoed through the room, bringing them back to reality. Oh, right, they were still in the studio and no matter how they got back to Spot’s apartment, they would need to, ah, cool down first. The same thought seemed to be occurring to Race, because he let his hands drop as Spot took a step backward, toward the door. Spot’s voice was raspy when he spoke again.

“I’ll wait out front.”

They spent about ten minutes apart in the dance studio before they left, time for them to calm down enough – honestly, just barely enough – to take a cab home. They didn’t quite trust themselves enough to get on the potentially occupied subway, and at least in the back of a cab, even the driver couldn’t see their lower halves. They opted for the stairs once they’d reached Spot’s building, both thinking it would be faster to bolt up the four flights than to wait on the ancient elevator. This proved false, as neither one could make it up an entire flight without pushing the other one against a wall, or the railing, and kissing them senseless. The advantage of this was that by the time Spot managed to slip his key into the lock and they stumbled inside, they had picked up where they’d left off at the studio.

Race started down the hall, but Spot caught his hand and pulled him back, pulling him flush against him so Racer’s back was pressed into his chest. Spot gently grasped Race’s jaw, tilting his head slightly to one side so he could speak into his ear.

“Meet you in the bedroom,” He paused, sliding a hand down beneath the waistband of Race’s pants and grabbing him roughly through the thin material of his boxer briefs. “Be ready for me.”

“Fuck, yes,” Race gasped as Spot let him go and he hurried to the bedroom, looking a little off balance. Spot watched him until he disappeared, then ducked into the bathroom before he followed suit.

Race was already stripped down to his underwear, one knee on the bed when Spot entered. He’d moved the top sheet and comforter from the bed and Spot laid down the towel he’d grabbed from the bathroom, before slipping out of his own shirt and pants. Still standing at the edge of the bed, he caught Race’s eyes and shook his head slowly.

“I said ready for me,” His voice was low and a little dangerous, and it made Race pull that lip between his teeth as he nodded and pulled his underwear off, kicking them aside. _Fuck._ Spot inhaled sharply at the sight, the pressure in his own boxers making itself known once again. Race was kneeling on the bed, waiting obediently – albeit impatiently – for Spot’s next words. “Getting warmer,” He praised, a pleasant flutter in his stomach as he realized Race couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Taking advantage of this, he slid his own hand down to his underwear but didn’t remove them; no, he slipped underneath the waistband and took himself in hand, not hiding the way his eyes roamed over Race’s naked form as he slowly stroked. It felt almost too good, and he had to slightly loosen his grip to keep from getting carried away. There was still much more fun to be had.

“Spotty,” Race whined. Spot noticed his hand twitch; no doubt he was fighting an urge to relieve some of his own pressure. But as he watched, Race balled his hand into a fist, fingernails digging into his palm with the effort of remaining still. Spot smirked, continuing to move his hand, more to tease Race than to please himself. “You promised.”

“That’s true,” Spot conceded, removing his hand and ridding himself of his underwear before climbing onto the bed. “But you haven’t followed my directions.” He paused for effect; Race looked almost offended at the suggestion. “You’re not ready for me.”

“Oh, trust me,” Race purred, closing the space between them and reaching out to touch Spot’s chest. “I’m ready.” But Spot shook his head, wrapping his fingers around Race’s wrists and removing them carefully, ignoring his noise of protest. He stayed still for a long moment, watching arousal turn to desperation in Race’s eyes until he finally huffed, thoroughly frustrated, “How do you want me?”

Spot kissed him in response, not relinquishing his grip on Racer’s wrists as he pulled them down to his sides. He pulled back, tipping his chin up so he could look down at Race, who was panting as he looked up. “On your hands and knees,” Spot answered, only the rough quality of his voice giving away his own impatience. “Facing the mirror.” He finished, jerking his head toward the mirror over his dresser.

Race obliged immediately, falling forward onto his hands and looking into the mirror to catch Spot’s eyes from where he knelt behind him. Spot only looked away to rummage in the drawer of his bedside table, procuring a bottle of lube that he promptly extended to Race. The blonde raised an eyebrow in question; Spot smirked.

“You got a listening problem tonight. Get ready.”

Understanding flashed in Race’s eyes and he moaned out loud at the thought. Sitting up on his knees, he spread the lube along his fingers and fell forward again, supporting his weight with his other hand. Instinctively, he looked down at the bed as he got his bearings and Spot softly cleared his throat.

“Look at me.”

Race’s head snapped up at Spot’s authoritative tone, meeting his eyes in the mirror and he swallowed hard. Not daring to break the eye contact, he reached his hand back and pressed two fingers inside.

“Fuck,” The groan that escaped him was high and breathy and it was all Spot could do not to grab his hips and take him right then. Instead, he resumed his earlier action, stroking himself slowly as he watched the mirror. He wasn’t sure what had made him decide to have Racer stretch himself out, but fuck, was he glad for it. He watched as Race’s supporting arm shook as he pumped his fingers, his pace slightly faster than Spot’s would have been. “Spot, fuck,” He was panting now and his eyes closed briefly before he forced them back open. “Please-“

“Almost there, Racer,” Spot said quietly, encouraging. Race added a third finger and Spot had to stop his own hand, because the sight was just _too_ hot: Racer on his knees, keeping eye contact in the mirror as he fucked himself with his own fingers.

“Spotty, nngh, I’m not-“ He paused, trying to catch his breath as his rhythm faltered. “I’m not gonna last if you don’t fuck me soon.” He managed to choke out before another breathless sound shattered what was left of Spot’s self-control. If he were honest, he wasn’t much better off; watching Race fall to pieces was easily one of the hottest things he would ever witness. He grabbed Race’s wrist, stopping him, and slid his other hand up Race’s spine, splaying his hand between his shoulder blades. He pushed down gently but firmly until Racer’s face was pressed into the mattress, turned to the side so he could still breathe. He picked up the forgotten bottle, spreading a generous amount on his cock before he pressed the tip against Race’s entrance, reveling in the desperate moan it drew from the blonde.

“Well, I _did_ promise,” And with that, Spot pushed forward, sinking in slowly – a little too slowly, if Race’s eager pleas and pants were anything to go by. He gripped Race’s hips, holding him still and thwarting any attempt to push back into him, to make him go faster. Race gritted his teeth, taking advantage of Spot’s new hand position to look up and glare at him in the mirror.

“Sean, _please_ ,”

“Sean, huh?” Spot sounded vaguely amused as he pulled nearly all the way out and Race cursed, dropping his head in desperation. “That close already, are you?” When Race could only nod weakly in response, Spot decided enough was enough. “Since you asked nicely…” He pushed back in, all at once, and Race sank down onto his elbows, arms unable to support his weight anymore as he cried out.

“Fuck, Sean, _yes_ ,” Race groaned. Spot set a frantic pace, trying to focus on the myriad of sensations coursing through him. He knew neither of them were going to last, judging by the way Race was trembling beneath him, reduced to a moaning, panting mess. Spot felt like he had been hard for hours at this point, and he could already feel the coiling in his stomach that let him know this wouldn’t last much longer. He buried himself to the hilt and stopped moving, smiling when Race groaned in protest. “Spot-“

“Look at me, Racer.”

Race lifted his head with difficulty, and Spot almost came right then at the sight of those glazed blue eyes, those lips parted just slightly, gasping for air.

“Look how beautiful you are, on your knees for me,” He purred as he started to thrust again, slowly. Race’s eyes fluttered but he fought to keep them open, focused on Spot in the mirror. As he moved, Spot noticed Race reach for his own cock, but Spot waved it away. “Not yet, gorgeous.”

Race whined but obeyed, settling down on his elbows again. “Sean, I’m gonna-“ He cut off in a strangled cry as Spot angled his hips down, deliberately hitting his prostate. Race gripped the towel in his hands as he rocked back into Spot, fully incapable of stringing sentences together anymore. “I’m – Spot please – touch me-“

Spot waited only another half minute to oblige him, brushing against his prostate with each thrust, rendering Race nearly silent. It seemed he could only gasp for air. Spot could feel his orgasm approaching but his thoughts were on Race, on seeing his face as he came, Spot buried deep inside him from behind. He slid one hand up Race’s back and into his hair, gripping tightly and pulling his head up just slightly.

“You close, baby?”

“God, yes, nggh, fuck-“

Spot reached his other hand around the front and wrapped his fingers around Race’s cock, not even pretending to take his time as he pumped quickly, intently watching Race’s face in the mirror. In no time at all, Race cried out, eyes rolling back as that telltale _Sean_ came out in a gasp and that was all it took; Spot was a goner. He came hard as he kept thrusting, cursing as he stroked Race through his own orgasm. After a moment, he carefully pulled out, drawing one more gasp from Race as he slumped forward onto the bed, spent. Spot brushed a hand down Racer’s spine, making him shiver as he laid there, boneless and panting. He gave him a minute to recover, then he leaned over him and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his head, curls slick with sweat.

“Go take a shower, sweetheart,” He murmured, smiling at the pleased noise Race made in response. “I’ll make the bed.”

Spot gave Race a few minutes to clean up in privacy as he disposed of the towel and remade the bed. Then, he headed into the bathroom to rinse off; he would have joined him, but frankly, he was still trembling and wasn’t sure he could take the potential for overstimulation presented by a joint shower. Five minutes later, they were both clean and dressed, Spot in his boxer briefs as always and Race in a pair of soft plaid pajama pants and they fell into bed, thoroughly exhausted. Race snuggled into Spot’s chest, nuzzling his nose against the sensitive skin of his throat as he hummed happily.

“Mmm, I’m gonna have to start volunteering to close if this is what I get for it.”

Spot huffed a soft laugh, rolling his eyes; he was glad it was dark, so Race couldn’t see the flush on his cheekbones. “Careful, Racer,” He teased, sliding one hand down to give his butt a gentle squeeze. “Next time I might show up prepared.”

“Ooh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” Race quipped before pressing a kiss in the hollow of Spot’s collarbone. Spot chuckled, tightening his grip around him as the edges of his vision started to blur. He closed his eyes, making a mental note to pick up a small bottle of lube soon. Maybe tomorrow.

_And maybe a bigger mirror._


End file.
